


It's Just a Thought

by combeferre_writer01



Series: The Witcher Stories [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Could read as friends but why would you?, Jaskier has an anxiety attack, M/M, everything is find in the end, sort of Jaskier!whump, they make up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22283905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combeferre_writer01/pseuds/combeferre_writer01
Summary: Request: Can u write a suPeR angsty one where Jaskier has anxiety or something and keeps getting attacks, but tries to keep it from Geralt and refuses to accept something is wrong and all Geralt is trying to do is help the poor bard? Could be Geralt/Jaskier or Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer. Angst to fluffiness because I can't get enough of Jaskier angst.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599160
Comments: 19
Kudos: 403





	It's Just a Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nerd3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nerd3/gifts).



> The title comes from the song "Here Comes a Thought" from Steven Universe.

_ It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. _ It had been almost two weeks since those words left Geralt’s lips and Jaskier still couldn’t get them out of his head. 

He hadn’t sung in the past two weeks and it confused him. The poor bard would strum and pick at his lute on autopilot when the anxiety, dread, and loss grew bigger and bigger in his heart and mind. The senseless lute-playing kept Geralt from thinking anything was wrong--maybe he preferred just the lute-- Damn his heightened senses. 

“What’s wrong?” Geralt sighed looking to Jaskier. 

“Nothing, nothing.” Jaskier got up from the log he was perched on and tried to get away but Geralt caught his wrist. “Geralt-”

“You know I-” Geralt’s eyes widened when he felt how fast the bard’s pulse was in his wrist. 

Jaskier yanked his arm free from Geralt’s hold, dropping his lute, and made it a few yards before he stumbled to his knees, catching himself on a small but sturdy tree. Geralt bolted up trying to catch him. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt rushed over, planting a hand on the small man’s shoulder. “What the fuck’s going on?”

Jaskier shook his head, the hand not resting on the tree pressed against his chest. His breath was fast and shallow, his heart beating fast enough he could hear it over his panting and feel it in his eardrums. His light blue eyes pushing out tears. 

The one time he couldn’t hide an anxiety attack from Geralt and it had to be over something he said. Of course, it did. 

Jaskier’s breathing grew faster still. If he rode through this attack, then he’d pass out and buy himself a few hours. He’d pass out soon if the dizzying lightheadedness was any indication. His fingers clutched his shirt so tightly his knuckles turned white for a couple of seconds before his body went slack and he slumped against the tree. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt frantically laid the limp body on the ground and pressed two fingers to Jaskier’s neck-- just under his jawline-- to find a pulse. It was slowing down but the Witcher was still at a complete loss as to what the fuck happened.

* * *

Geralt tried racking his brain for what could have caused Jaskier to pass out like this. A girl in a village he was passing through had an attack like this after having consumed some sort of tree nut.

That couldn’t have been it. The bard was playing his lute and Geralt was cleaning his sword. Even if one of them had been cooking, Geralt knew what Jaskier was allergic to and Jaskier wouldn’t have added something he knew he couldn't eat. 

Jaskier got sickly for the first month or so of Spring, but it was September and the leaves had yet to even change colour. Nothing added up so he started debating what healer might owe him a favour so he could Jaskier to him if he didn’t wake up soon. 

The damned bard was unmoving for two hours only to fall asleep for another six. What ailment could have befallen his friend so strongly without any real warning was beyond him.

* * *

Jaskier woke again in the early afternoon. Geralt was gone but Roach was tethered to a nearby tree, grazing on grass. The bat sat up, ruffling his hair with a heavy sigh. He didn’t want to tell Geralt of his anxiety-- Let alone that the negative thoughts helping the attack strength was over something the Witcher himself had said.

And here came Geralt with a rabbit in each hand. He seemed to perk up at the sight of Jaskier sitting up and looking around. “Feeling better?” 

“Physically.”

“Physically? You’re not ill?” Geralt sat on the ground across from Jaskier and started to skin the rabbits. 

“No… Not that kind of ill. I don’t...I don’t think it has a name. My mother took me to a healer after the first three times this happened and he couldn’t find anything wrong with me.” Jaskier stared at the ground. “Did every damned test he could think of nothing came of it. All I know is that when I get overwhelmed by my thoughts I can’t breathe and I faint… Then I sleep for the next few hours.”

“What thoughts overwhelmed you?”

Jaskier plucked a piece of grass and began playing with it. “I- It’s nothing, Geralt.”

“Nothing? I thought you died when you passed out yesterday, Jaskier. That’s not-”

“Filling-less pie.”

“What?” Geralt’s brow furrowed and his hands paused in their actions of skinning the rabbits. 

“It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling.” Jaskier quoted, not looking up from the blade of grass. 

“Gods, Jaskier, it was a jest and I hadn’t slept in da-”

“No-one can tell when or if you’re joking, Geralt. You don’t exactly look the part of someone who would enjoy a laugh. I’m a bard, you think I’d know. But...what’s a bard with filling-less pie?” Jaskier threw his arms up. 

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look-”

“No. For once,  _ you  _ look. If you want me to leave, say the word. I-”

“No-”

“Shut it. I don’t know why I stick around. I got the  _ majority  _ of Cintra looking up to you like...like some warlord. What else could I possibly do for you? Yet all you do is call me names and put me down.” Jaskier shook his head, drawing in a breath. “So if I  _ hurt _ you that much, say the word and I’ll take my lute and you’ll never have to taste my fillingless pie again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I mean really- What?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier stared dumbfounded at the Witcher.

“I’m not the best at apologies but for what it’s worth, I don’t want you to leave.” Geralt tried to articulate his thoughts. He was confused and slightly distracted by the [anick that arose when Jaskier said he’d leave. “You’re holding back.”

“I just… Oh! fuck it. The day we met, I followed you because you hadn’t said a word against my singing--just that the content of them was incorrect. The other jeered and threw food scraps, but you...you listened and said nothing. No comment at all was better than telling me to fuck off in various ways. 

“I’m a bard. We make our living with charm and musical ability. Queen Calanthe hired me because my father was a jester when she was a child. I was born with a lute in one hand and a fiddle in the other. 

“You don’t need people telling you you’re good with a sword because someone new always pays you-- you don’t even need charm! What people say about bards makes their reputation but bias and prejudice travel  _ much _ farther than skill or effort. So I guess-- and I’m not saying this to guilt you. I guess my best friend telling me my singing is subpar tipped the scales and I broke.”

Geralt hadn’t expected the bard to fully unleash. He’d heard Jaskier babble for hours, but this wasn’t babbling. This was something Geralt had never even thought of looking at. 

“Honestly--unbiased because you know me and how far I’ve travelled-- you’re singing is more pleasant than most bards, They’re too...clean. They try too hard. One would think they’d have a college for that.” 

“They do,” Jaskier nodded. “Most bards in the guild went to college. My father taught me everything I know. I couldn’t learn anything from most of the professors. I tried applying thrice.” 

“See? Maybe you’re better for a rougher audience than farmers.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Jaskier stood and stretched his arms above his head. “Are you making stew?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll go collect some herbs, then.” Passing Geralt, Jaskier pressed a kiss to his hairline and walked past him to find wild basil and whatever else he might come across. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the request! Please let me any know--any of you readers--if you have any other ideas for me to write. I do for other fandoms as well.


End file.
